Unexpected Encounters
by radialarch
Summary: "When Draco Malfoy answered his door one August afternoon, he definitely did not expect to see Harry Potter standing there." And exactly how did they end up on an adventure together? / Post-War, EWE, eventual H/D. On hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Unexpected Encounters

**Disclaimer: **J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I do claim the snark, though.

**Pairings: **Eventual Harry/Draco.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Should there be? Passing suggestive comments.

**Wordcount: **Under construction.

**Summary: **In which Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy go on an adventure. And there are dragons.

_A/N: A fairly straight-forward adventure story. I'm hoping to go in-depth into the nature of magic. Much love to **xDarkxLightx** for beta work._

* * *

><p>When Draco Malfoy answered his door one August afternoon, he definitely did not expect to see Harry Potter standing there. In his surprise, he forgot to slam the door shut again and merely stood there, wordless.<p>

"Hullo, Malfoy," said the other man easily. "I've come to return your wand." He held out one hand and indeed, on the upturned palm rested a familiar hawthorn wand.

Almost mechanically, Draco reached out, fingers eagerly settling into the grooved wood. "Thank you," he muttered, purely out of habit, but couldn't think of anything else to say.

There was a long silence then. Potter was frowning thoughtfully as he considered Draco and the surroundings. Under the measured gaze, Draco shifted, keenly aware of how he might appear to Potter, who looked every bit the hero the _Daily Prophet_ made him out to be. Draco tiredly wished that Potter would leave, but after all, it seemed a bit absurd to say that to one who'd once saved his life.

Potter finally opened his mouth, on the verge of saying something, when a clear voice interrupted. "Why, Mr. Potter, it's a pleasure to see you. Would you care to join me for tea?"

"I—of course, Mrs. Malfoy," replied Potter, sounding admirably composed even as he paled at the prospect.

"Wonderful. Do let the gentleman in, Draco," his mother said airily. So Draco stepped aside and watched Harry Potter walk into his home. As his mother took Potter's arm and led him away, the man glanced back, a plea in his eyes; but Draco could only shrug, equally bewildered, as the two disappeared into the parlour.

* * *

><p>The second time, Draco <em>did<em> remember and shut the door at once. He paused in the hall, savouring the outraged surprise on the other man's face; then, ignoring the muffled protests from the outside, he went to find his mother.

"Mother, why is Harry Potter standing on our porch?"

"Well, darling, I'd imagine it's because you didn't let him in." She waved her wand over the vase of lilies she'd been painting (a Stasis Charm, he thought, to keep them fresh) and then looked up unconcernedly. "You really shouldn't keep him waiting, though—it's terribly rude. Besides," she continued, putting away the half-finished painting and picking up another canvas, "he'll be in no state to sit for me if he's all worked up."

"You're painting him?" Draco gaped at his mother. It was well-known that Harry Potter did not sit for portraits. Even good photographs of the man were rare: ones in papers were invariably grainy and showed Potter hurriedly ducking into buildings or warding off the camera with a forearm. "How did that happen?"

"I asked," his mother responded serenely. "His eyes looked _such_ a challenge; they're quite wonderful. Now, be a dear and invite him in. I really must go change." With an almost girlish giggle, she glided into her bedroom. Draco suppressed the urge to bang his head on the wall and stalked down to the door.

* * *

><p>By not answering the door at all, Draco thought he might have solved the Potter problem. When the doorbell rang, he would instead sit down in the foyer and glower at the door until the shadow behind the frosted glass retreated. Potter, however, didn't even pause to knock, but opened the door himself and strode right in. "Narcissa said I should, because you were 'being unreasonable'. Your wards are practically gone in some spots, did you know?" he began explaining apologetically, then paused and stared hard at Draco. "Why are you camped in the hallway?"<p>

"I'm watching the paint dry," Draco snarled. "Go away."

"Ah," Potter coughed. "Good luck with that." Draco had the sneaking suspicion that the other man was very near laughing at him. "I'll just head on up, then."

As Potter walked off, Draco belatedly realised—"Potter! Since when do you call my mother _Narcissa_?"

A peal of laughter echoed down the hallway.

* * *

><p>Potter was at the door, <em>again<em>, and Draco decided that this had gone on quite far enough. "Look, Potter," he began, flinging open the door, "perhaps I haven't been quite clear—what the hell are you wearing?"

"Er, dress robes?" the man suggested tentatively. "That _is_ what people generally call them."

"Never mind," Draco snapped. "Has _no one_ ever taught you how to tie a bow tie?"

"Hermione showed me a Tie-Tying Charm—"

"But that's a Windsor, which is all wrong. Here." Draco reached for the offending garment, fingers deftly crossing and uncrossing the fabric. "Much better," he declared, satisfied. "Yes, Potter, I do realise that those are, in fact, dress robes. But you see, you really shouldn't be here at all, let alone dressed like this."

Potter seemed a bit dazed and was inexplicably blushing. "Your mother—"

"Harry, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting." Narcissa drifted toward them, looking resplendent in a gown that Draco knew hadn't been worn in years: for where could she have worn them? "But a lady must look her best, you know." She winked. Winked! Draco had never seen anything so scandalous.

"You always look lovely, Narcissa," Potter said, in that entirely too sincere way of his. "Shall we go?"

"Thank you," she smiled demurely as she took his arm. "Good-bye, Draco, and please don't worry if I don't return tonight."

Then the two left, leaving behind a dumbfounded Malfoy.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy had a plan. A very cunning plan, with all possibilities accounted for. After all the planning, it would have been quite a pity not to put it into action. So the very next time Harry Potter came, Draco ambushed him. A well-aimed <em>Incarcerous<em> later, he'd won himself a prisoner.

"You know, Draco, when I imagined this scenario the tying-up was usually consensual," Potter commented, but Draco ignored that. The man was obviously trying to distract him.

"All right, Potter," Draco said finally, after shoving Potter into his study, "what exactly are you doing?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" Potter somehow managed to frown and smirk at the same time. "You attacked me!"

"Unimportant," Draco waved his hand impatiently, "it's all part of the plan. _You_, however, aren't doing anything you're supposed to."

"What...I'm supposed to?"

"Yes. You saved the world. What you should be doing is rescuing orphaned baby Kneazles and Crups and generally living happily-ever-after." Draco said this all in one breath. "Instead, here you are, consorting with my mother." He pointed an accusatory finger at the other man, pronouncing darkly, "The neighbours are starting to talk."

"Draco, your house is the only one for a good twenty kilometres. You basically _are_ your neighbours."

"Exactly my point. And don't call me Draco!"

Potter was now smiling broadly. While tied up. Draco had to admit, the man had nerve. "This isn't one of those moments when you ask me about my intentions and then bless our impending marriage, is it?"

"No!" Draco yelped. "You absolutely cannot marry my mother!"

"Okay."

"Well...good." Draco was taken aback by Potter's swift acquiescence. "As long as we're clear on that point." He paused. "Are you trying to trick me?"

"I assure you, I haven't the slightest intention of marrying your mother," Potter soothed. "She's not my type."

"What's wrong with my mother?" Draco asked, affronted. "I suppose you prefer someone like that Weasley girl."

"Ginny?" Potter looked surprised. "She's engaged to Dean. And they're living in Germany now—she's probably going to make their Quidditch team this year, you know."

"What happened?" Draco asked, curiosity piqued. "She decided that the Saviour of the World wasn't good enough for her?"

"Why does everyone think she was the one who called it off?" Potter was clearly disgruntled. "Is it so hard to believe that I'm a desirable person? Wait, don't answer that." Draco swallowed a smirk. "The truth is, we both decided we just liked someone else better."

"Really? Who?"

"Why don't I show you?" Swiftly, Potter stood to place a kiss on Draco's lips. "Oh, hello, Narcissa. Bye, Draco." Then with a cheeky grin, the man walked out of the study, leaving behind only the tangled ropes.

Draco would later blame the fact that his mother was laughing at him, but it took him a while to remember that he'd never untied Potter.

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: All disclaimers still apply. Also, this fic is going places I didn't know existed. Hmm._

* * *

><p>"Potter!" This time, Draco was the person standing outside. "If you don't open this door in the next five seconds, I'm going to—"<p>

"It's still _Potter_, is it?" The door swung open, revealing Potter staring at Draco rather mournfully. "Ah, well. I suppose you should come in."

Draco opened his mouth to protest that he'd do no such thing, but found himself walking inside instead. Damn him. The man was disorienting.

"So, Draco," Potter said in a perfectly friendly tone, "exactly why were you attempting to blast open my front door?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I'd never do something so lacking in finesse," Draco sniffed. "I merely wanted an explanation of your...conduct."

"My conduct," Potter repeated slowly, lips twitching a little. "Would you elaborate on that?"

"You kissed me!" Draco spluttered. "What more elaboration do you want?"

"Yes, I did." Potter inclined his head in agreement, voice grave. "I admit I'm guilty of that."

"Well, you can't—you can't go around doing things like that!" Draco was aware that his voice had risen alarmingly high. "It's confusing!"

"Oh, I'm sorry." And there was that sincerity again. Surely it was impossible for a human being to be that sincere. "Why did it confuse you?"

"I—" Draco wracked his thoughts for a valid reason. "I'm not gay," he finally announced.

"Really." Potter raised a sceptical eyebrow. "What about Zabini?"

"Wait, how do you know about Blaise?" Draco's mouth had fallen open. This was not fair. The world was obviously conspiring against him, and the best thing to do now now would be to curl up on the floor and close his eyes. "And...and I was young and confused! I was experimenting!"

"Draco, you were with him for two years. And then you broke up with him to get together with Justin Finch-Fletchley. Your mother told me about it."

"Why would she do that?" His own mother, working together with _Potter_! Didn't kinship count for anything? Also...he thought he'd succeeded in hiding that Justin thing from her. This did not bode well.

"I introduced her to Kingsley." Potter was smiling as if he hadn't said anything unusual, as if he hadn't just ignored centuries of enmity between Aurors and the Malfoy family, as if it was even conceivable that Narcissa Malfoy would ever _want _to meet one Kingsley Shacklebolt.

At this point, Draco may have done something suspiciously close to whimpering. His head hurt.

"Draco?" The voice was faint. "Are you—"

* * *

><p>When Draco next opened his eyes, Harry Potter's face had taken over his field of vision. He quickly shut his eyes again."This is a dream," he muttered frantically, "Potter's not really here—"<p>

"Interesting, do you dream about waking up in my bed often?"

The sound out of Draco's throat could be best described as "aaarrghck". Draco buried his head in the pillow, then realised that it was probably Potter's pillow and shot up again. "Why?" he demanded of no one in particular. "Why won't you go away?"

"Voldemort never figured that out, either." Potter's voice sounded unusually sympathetic. "You're probably better off not trying."

"Wait, let me get this straight," Draco turned, suddenly remembering. "My mother wanted you around because she needed you to introduce her to Shacklebolt. In return, she gave you certain information." Draco pitched his voice to suitable outrage. "Certain extremely sensitive information. What are you trying to do, blackmail me?"

"If necessary." Potter grinned. "But honestly, I'd prefer that you agree of your own free will. Come on a date with me. Just one. It won't be so bad."

"Yes, it would." The protest was automatic.

"Why?" Challenge gleamed in Potter's eyes. "What would make it so horrible?"

"Because—" Draco swallowed. This most certainly was not a good idea. It really wasn't.

* * *

><p>So.<p>

Draco was staring into his wardrobe, trying to pick out something to wear. For a _date_. With _Potter_.

Clearly he had gone insane. Or maybe Potter had cursed him. Yes, that made more sense. Quickly, Draco tried to see if he'd been Confunded. But Bark's Second Law of Relativity stated that the victim of a _Confundus_ charm could not discern whether he'd been Confunded...

Draco sighed and pulled out a pair of blue robes. If he had to do this, he was at least going to do it properly, and he had been told more than once that he looked very good in those particular robes.

It was worth a try.

* * *

><p>For the first time since all this Potter nonsense had started, Potter was the one speechless. Draco smirked. "Why, Potter, are you staring?"<p>

"Er, sorry." The other man coughed hastily, looking down at his feet. He took a step back, then seemed to reconsider as he reached the end of the porch. "Okay. Wow. You look great." And now Potter was blushing again. Draco told the (very small) part of his brain which found that cute to shut up.

"Thanks, Potter. Now where are we going?" Draco stepped out into the evening air and looked around. There was no transportation as far as he could see. Potter _was_ planning to take him somewhere, wasn't he? And hopefully somewhere quite expensive?

"Harry," Potter said as he reached out. "Call me Harry."

Oh. Draco cleared his throat. "Harry," he pronounced slowly. The name felt strange on his tongue, something foreign that Draco nevertheless thought he could get used to.

_Harry_ smiled brilliantly. "Are you ready?" he asked, head tilted questioningly. "Side-Along." At some point the man had taken Draco's hand. Draco thought about protesting, but just nodded instead.

Then they were gone.

_TBC._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Disclaimers still here. I'm rather disturbed that the story is becoming some sort of epic-adventure-thing, by the way. It definitely was not planned._

* * *

><p>Draco had the fleeting thought that his father would have been rather disappointed to know that his son had allowed <em>Harry Potter<em> to Apparate him anywhere. Then he put the thought out of his mind, because times had changed. His father had lost.

_Draco_ had lost, for that matter. He should have been in Azkaban—would have been, had it not been for—

Harry's voice jarred him out of his musings. "Draco?"

Ahh, yes. Where were they? Draco gazed at his surroundings, and his words caught in his throat. The two of them were on a mountaintop: the sky gleamed brilliantly above, and in the valley below, in all their fiery, majestic splendour, were—

"Dragons." Harry glanced at Draco anxiously. "I didn't know—"

_Dragons_. From his childhood Draco had been fascinated by these creatures, his namesakes. He'd devoured stories about them, and when there had been no more to be told, created his own. They'd been his protectors, his companions, his friends...

Draco shook off the memories and turned to the man around him. "I can't believe it, Harry," he said softly. "Where—how—"

"We're in Wales," Harry said cheerfully. "The last wild dragon reserve in Britain. I talked to Charlie Weasley—has good connections, that man."

"The last?"

"The dragons are on the move." This time, Harry's smile had a sadder tinge to it. "Mass migrations all over the world-Obliviators have been working overtime, of course, and various Ministries are frantically talking to their Muggle counterparts, but there's no doubt about it: they're leaving."

"Where?" Draco frowned. "They must be going _someplace_."

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it?" Harry shrugged. "Wherever they're going, it's not in this world."

There was a silence as Draco tried to absorb what Harry had just said. "You—you're planning to follow them," he breathed out slowly and heard no denial. Suspicion was beginning to crystallize in his voice. "Potter, why did you bring me here?"

"Back to Potter again," the other man muttered, disappointed. "I wasn't lying—I did want a date with you. Went through a lot of trouble for it, too, if you haven't noticed."

"But?" Draco's eyes narrowed. "You have ulterior motives."

"I always do," Potter grinned. "Does the _Daily Prophet_ still think I'm an Auror?"

"Yes," Draco replied promptly. Then he blushed. "Not that I care—"

"Of course not." Potter nodded in mock seriousness. "See, the thing is, they're wrong. Right organization, but wrong department."

"Who in the Ministry deals with—_this_?"

"Who else?" And now there was a very familiar, reckless fire in those green eyes. "The Unspeakables, of course."

* * *

><p>"Why me?"<p>

The question came after a long silence. They'd stood there, watching the dragons fly among spurts of radiant fire; Potter had retreated a bit, given Draco time to think. And during this time, Draco had come to two conclusions: One, that Potter was an insane man who—for some reason—wanted something from Draco. And two, that just for the sake of the dragons, Draco might go along with it.

"Why you..." Potter repeated thoughtfully. "You know a fair bit about fixing things—and going _between_ places, if you know what I mean. You knew Snape—yes, Severus Snape," he nodded as Draco shot him a startled look. "He's somehow involved, though we're not quite sure how. I could do with a decent flier around: I hear some Pureblood families have kept up with—ah, _older_ methods of transportation."

The excitement glowing in Potter's eyes—it was faint, true, but _there_ if you looked—was beginning to affect Draco. Yes, indeed, there were more ways of flying than just on broomsticks. Draco remembered with fondness the flying carpet in his childhood bedroom (it had only ever hovered about a foot off the floor, but that had been enough for his imagination) and the dragon harness in the attic. Was it still possible? Who knew?

"And," Potter continued, "I'd rather like to have you around."

* * *

><p>"How long?"<p>

"How long what?"

"How long have you been planning this, Potter?"

"I haven't, actually." Potter grinned at Draco's incredulous stare. "The Unspeakables have known about the dragons for only a week. But—it seemed right. And I thought it'd be all right if I asked."

"You'd like me to abandon my life, my home, and go with you on a madcap adventure chasing dragons to Merlin-knows-where. Because _it seems right._"

"Yep, that's the crux of it." Potter glanced at Draco challengingly. "Would it be so bad?"

No, Draco had to admit. It was something he'd liked to have done, once upon a time... "What if I say no?" He asked.

"Then I'll take you back. And you can live your life the way you want. I won't bother you anymore." The man's earnest eyes caught Draco's. "It would certainly be more peaceful."

Draco bit his lip. "I have one condition, Harry Potter," he finally said.

"What's that?"

"That I get some explanations."

"You'll have them." Potter's smile was blinding. "But first, we follow!"

_TBC..._

* * *

><p><em>Yeah, you'll get them, too. But that's for a different chapter. Hehe.<em>


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry this took a while. I had finals, then motivation problems. Oh, disclaimers, et cetera._

* * *

><p>As anyone who has ever followed dragons knows, one cannot just abandon his life and depart. There are preparations to be made, research to be done, mothers to inform—<p>

Narcissa Malfoy, as anyone could have predicted, was not happy at the news. As Draco packed, he was uncomfortably aware of the silence around him—not the calm silence that was the norm in the manor, but one much more tense and pointed.

He wondered how Potter was feeling right then, in the sitting room while the tang of a storm brewed in the air.

Hmm. He'd been thinking about Potter's feelings quite a bit lately. _Was this a bad thing?_ Draco tentatively asked of himself. He remembered his younger self—a more childish self—who would have only cared if Potter were feeling frightened or angry. But now he was genuinely curious. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived...

Draco finally got the last shelf of books into his pack, then stuffed his rug in there too, for good measure. He took a last look around—the study looked rather forlorn now, with half of its usual furnishings missing. "It's only for a while," he said out loud, addressing—whom? Himself? The room? Well, perhaps it was silly, talking without a listening ear, but it comforted him. And besides, old magic sometimes had strange consequences.

* * *

><p>"Draco." His mother's voice did not waver. "You choose to do this." And to her credit she did not ask this of him, but stated it firmly, acknowledging his decision. But then again, perhaps he should not have expected any less from her, first a Black and now a Malfoy.<p>

"I do."

"Then I ask—" and her voice may have broken here, but Draco would never admit that—"that your path bring you back."

Draco raised his head and and looked directly into her eyes. "I swear it." And he felt the magic swirl around them both, sealing the promise.

"As for you, Harry Potter—"

"I swear on my wand that I will do everything in my power to protect Draco from harm," Potter said earnestly.

"I've no doubt you will." Was that a smile beginning in her eyes? "But who will protect you from Draco?"

* * *

><p>"That was powerful magic for such a small ritual." Potter glanced sideways at Draco as they walked out of the house.<p>

"You felt it?"

Potter shrugged. "I've trained myself to be sensitive."

That wasn't as easy as Potter made it out to be, but Draco let it go for now. "It invokes the magic of every Malfoy who ever lived," Draco said simply. "It _should _be powerful."

"And what does it do?"

Draco couldn't tell if the question was out of simple curiosity or some other motive—_but he's not an Auror_, his subconscious supplied, _and it's not like it's dangerous..._ "If I live, then nothing," he finally said.

"You will," Potter said, startled. "Draco—"

"Don't go all heroic on me now, Potter, I'm just answering your question. While I'm living, the spell does nothing. It will, however, return my dead body back to the Manor."

Potter seemed to want to say something at that, but he bit his lip. "Is that all you're taking?" He asked instead, nodding at the pack slung on Draco's back. "It's not very big."

"Undetectable Extension Charm," Draco grinned. "I could have put the entire Manor in here."

"Oh." For some reason this seemed to disconcert Potter even more—he fell entirely silent.

"But why do you get to be the only one asking questions?" Draco said at last, when it was clear that Potter wasn't going to say anything else. "Don't I get answers to mine?"

"Oh." Potter looked up distractedly. "Yes."

Draco had been expecting more of a fight. _What, Potter doesn't feel like being mysterious anymore?_ "All right, then," he shrugged, "where are Weasley and Granger? Isn't it usually their job to go on adventures with you?" It was a question that had been on his mind ever since everything had started.

"Granger-Weasley," Potter corrected automatically, then turned to face Draco. "Why do you care?" The man's face was honestly puzzled.

"I care because—" Draco stopped to think. "I—well, because they're your friends. And they love you, and if you'd told them half of what you told me, they'd both be here right now—" A thought struck him. "Are you running away from something?" He demanded. "That's why you didn't tell your friends, isn't it? And any moment now they're going to find you and—and they're going to blame _me_, Potter! And of course no one is going to believe me, and I'll have to run away to Australia and—and Potter, I don't like Australia!" Draco paused to take a breath and saw Potter grinning broadly.

"Of course not," the man said, soothing. "All that sun. It would be terrible for you."

"Are you—are you laughing at me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it. I'm just, ah, admiring by your imagination."

Draco considered pouting, but decided against it. "Fine," he said instead, emphatically _not_ sulking. "Why haven't you told your friends anything, then?"

"Who says I haven't? They're not here with me because they're dealing with other issues."

"Other issues?"

"Well, I suppose it's all part of the same issue. Here, get in. This might take a bit." Potter indicated with his hand. Draco looked around and saw that they had walked off Malfoy property as they'd talked; Potter was pointing at his car.

Draco had had limited experience dealing with cars, but this one was comfortable enough for him not to complain. He slid into the passenger seat and looked at Potter expectantly. Potter started the car and drove as he talked.

"All right, so here's what we know: two weeks ago there was an airplane flying from Spain to Peru that just...disappeared right before it was supposed to land."

"Airplanes disappear all the time, Potter. They're not safe things."

"Draco, despite what you may have heard about them, airplanes are perfectly safe. And even in accidents, planes don't just _disappear_. There are always bits and pieces left behind."

"Yes, that makes them sound _very_ safe."

"Could I just—talk?"

"I apologize. Continue."

"Well, the Peruvian Ministry got involved, because they detected a large magical flare about the time of the disappearance. And they found a Gate."

"A what?"

"Well, that's what we're calling it, anyway. Here, look." Potter fished a small mirror from his pocket and presented it to Draco. In it, Draco could see—what was it? There was what seemed like a _gash_ in the sky; there was something profoundly wrong about it, something that made him shiver. Through the Gate all that could be seen was a chaotic swirl of color.

"_That's_ what they found? How are they preventing the Muggles from—_feeling_ that thing? Even through a Viewscope—"

"Notice-Me-Not spells with a strong dose of Cheering Charms thrown in," Potter said glumly. "They have to renew it every couple of hours."

"And this is happening all over the world?"

"Yes. Two days later we got reports from Romania. A few days later, Sweden. Norway. Then New Zealand. The latest one's in China.

"It was Charlie Weasley who gave me the idea first. The Gates were all near—"

"—established dragon reserves," Draco interrupted. Planning his (never-realized) trip to one had been a childhood hobby. "What was a Muggle plane doing near a reserve in the first place?"

"It got blown off-course." Potter sighed. "But yes, there seems to be some connection with dragon reserves. According to Charlie, the Romanian ones were getting restless some days before the Gate was reported. And afterwards, the dragons had gone. We think they went through the Gate, although it's not like we can really check. Where else could they be, though?"

"And you—want to follow them _through_ one? That sounds even more dangerous than an airplane, Potter."

"Well, that's where Ron and Hermione come in," Potter replied. The car stopped. "Here. Let's go inside."

They were in front of the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

><p><em>Reviews are like chocolate. We can live without them, but they're just so nice to have...<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Also, I've not turned into JK Rowling in the interim, so disclaimers continue to exist.  
>For RogueValkrye: the wand Harry returns is the hawthorn one of Draco's that Harry won in DH. <em>

* * *

><p>Draco noticed the murmurs as soon as he set foot in the Atrium. "Potter," he said sharply. "Did you tell anyone I was coming here?"<p>

"Did I tell—oh, for Merlin's sake!" Potter stopped short as he spotted at least three Quick-Quotes quills waving in the air and the cool glares aimed their way. "Only the people in my project know, because I needed authorization to bring you in." He grabbed Draco's upper arm and dragged him behind a column, muttering furiously all the while. Draco could hear a rather creative suggestion involving a parrot and a bottle of rum, and felt a flash of pity for the poor sod who'd spilled the news. "Is a bit of trust too much to ask for?"

"Potter, don't be so dramatic." Draco shook his arm free of Potter's grip and sneaked a glance behind him. Yes, the crowd was closing in. "It's a story involving you—and _me_! Irresistible, if you think about it."

Potter laughed, sounding a bit helpless. "Draco, only you could think like that."

Draco didn't dignify that with a response. A plan was forming in his mind. "Potter, when I say 'go', run to the elevators, okay?"

"What—"

"Just do it, please." Potter quieted, which Draco took for assent. He peered around the column again, aimed carefully, and whispered, "_Averto attentio_."

Total silence descended over the Atrium; a moment later, the air exploded with shouted questions. "All right, Potter, go!"

They pelted toward the elevators together, navigating through a crowd that was all-too-happy to get out of their way. This was the riskiest part—a sufficiently determined mind could see past the spell. Draco spotted a few curious glances directed their way, but no one seemed inclined to stop them.

"Do I really need to check in my wand?" Draco asked, panting slightly, as the elevator doors slid shut.

"Don't worry about that. We can probably grant you an exception this time." Potter laughed weakly and peered out of the grille as they started moving down. "What did you do to them?"

"It's a mild illusion. Makes them see what they want to see. Must have been something really interesting."

"_Interesting_..." Potter groaned. "I'm supposed to keep a low-profile, you know."

"Off to chase dragons, remember? You won't have to worry about it for quite a while."

Harry Potter buried his head in his arms, and Draco could only grin.

* * *

><p>Potter winced almost imperceptibly as they entered the Department of Mysteries and the room started spinning. Draco wondered about that—and just why <em>had<em> the man become an Unspeakable?—but before he could ask, the other man straightened and enunciated clearly, "Dragons research."

The room stopped abruptly; a door threw itself open. Draco fought the sudden urge to reach for Potter's hand (he certainly wasn't _scared_, not at all) and strode through the doorway.

As it turned out, the room contained one tired-looking Hermione Granger—Granger-Weasley, Draco reminded himself—and a copiously smoking cauldron. Notes were pinned on every available surface. Draco raised an eyebrow—the potion must have been giving her a bit of trouble. "Hullo, Malfoy," she said, looking up. Draco tensed, but her tone was carefully neutral. He mentally noted to ask Potter later what he had said to his friends. "You're just in time. I need your blood."

"My blood?" Draco gazed blankly at the silver dagger she thrust at him. Over the surface of the blade lay an oddly colored sheen. "For what?"

"So I can work Blood magic for my nefarious plot," she deadpanned. "The potion, Malfoy. It needs to recognize you."

"Just what is this potion going to do, exactly?" he queried, but he was already bringing the tip of the dagger to his palm. A drop of blood welled from the cut and rolled onto the blade. Draco momentarily contemplated the fact that he was handing over his blood to a very talented witch who had no reason to like him—then shrugged and handed over the knife anyway. His father would have disapproved spectacularly.

"It should confer onto you some draconic properties. No fire-breathing or anything, I'm afraid, but what we're really interested in is the magical protection, isn't it?"

"If you have that, then why am _I_ the one going along with Potter instead of one of the many people I'm sure you have at hand?"

"I can't go with him because I'm heading the research here; Ron's tied up in Auror business; and Harry—"

"And I am particular about who I work with, thank you very much," Potter interjected.

"If I'm your best choice I'd say you need a personnel overhaul," muttered Draco. "Hang on." Something occurred to him. "I'm about to go through a slash in the sky with nothing to protect me except an unknown potion?"

"It's been tested, Draco," Potter said hurriedly.

"The dagger," Ronald Weasley contributed, coming into the room. "It's survived a trip through a Gate, and no worse for the wear as far as we can tell."

Draco looked askance at the named object. "Am I going to come out all shimmering like that?"

Weasley sniggered. "Might be an improvement, don't you think?"

* * *

><p>"Oi, Malfoy!"<p>

It was Weasley's voice that stopped Draco as the other two exited the room. "Yes?" he asked coolly, but he relaxed a bit as the red-haired man drew nearer. The expression on Weasley's face was uncertain, not upset.

"Look. Harry trusts you, for whatever reason, and Godric knows he trusts an awful lot of people, but his instincts aren't usually bad. So if he's going to be happy—"

"Are we...having this conversation?" Draco asked, discomfited. "I haven't decided on anything yet."

"Oh, really?" The man opened his mouth, then appeared to reconsider his response. "Well. If you _do_ decide on something, then we're okay, y'know—" He trailed off, shuffling awkwardly. "Oh, and your mother's turned out to be pretty nice, too," he added as an afterthought.

"What is it with you lot and my mother?" Draco threw his hands up in the air. "Do you take tea together and just all plot against me?"

Weasley's lips twitched upward.

* * *

><p>"Are you ready?" Harry Potter murmured beside Draco's ear. "You look a bit pale."<p>

"I'm fine," he replied automatically. It wasn't true, of course—he was absurdly nervous—but a frisson of excitement curled through him all the same. Draco Malfoy took a deep breath and prepared to do something absurd—reckless—very Potter-ish, in fact. "How about we just...go?"

"All right, then."

With that, two men plunged through the sky and disappeared.

* * *

><p><em>And we're finally going adventuring! <em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Not mine, et cetera. _

* * *

><p>There was only a chaotic swirl of color, so thick as to make Draco feel like he was choking on paint. His heartbeat sounded too loudly in his ear.<p>

"Are we standing _on_ anything?" Harry Potter's voice was bewildered. "How are we not falling?"

As if the universe had heard that remark and set about to rectify it, Draco felt himself tilt sideways. "Wha—" he had time to splutter, then cool air was sliding against his skin in a harsh rasp. "Potter, you _had_ to tempt fate, didn't you? Couldn't just leave it alone."

"Draco, this is _not_ the time. Berate me about how inadequate I am later." The reply came breathless behind him. Well, perhaps it _was_ a bit inadvisable to have an argument while falling—actually, how were they falling? Was there even anything to fall toward?

A ribbon of purple under him seemed to twist at that thought, then luxuriously unfold. Draco wondered if it was possible for an inanimate object to look smug. (At least, he hoped it was inanimate, because the possibility of it being alive was too frightening to contemplate). At any rate, he didn't fancy finding out what that purple smear would to do him, first-hand. Perhaps this was a good time to panic.

Apparently he'd said the last bit out loud, because there was laughter at that. An arm suddenly snaked around Draco's waist; he stifled a yelp, then realized it was Potter.

That fact was a bit more comforting than it should have been.

"Relax." The voice beside his ear was tinged with exhilaration, the lunatic. "Ready?"

Before Draco even thought of answering, a whispered _Finite_ came, a Shrinking Charm suddenly ended, and then they were sweeping upwards.

"You brought your _Firebolt_ with you?" Draco demanded, twisting around, because that was the first thought that came to his head, and it was too difficult to think of another question with his heart rattling in a way that would make a jackhammer envious.

There was a shift, a shrug. "It's come in useful at times."

"Well, can't say I'm complaining." Draco leaned, close enough to see the glow in those recklessly flashing eyes, then pressed in to claim a kiss, hot and heady and somehow so gloriously right.

The broom wobbled dangerously for a moment before it righted itself.

"_What_ was that?"

Already turned to face ahead, Draco offered, "Adrenaline." Then, softer, "And thank you."

* * *

><p>Draco could practically feel the questions vibrating behind him, but he didn't have any answers, either. So he ignored it and focused on on the flight. The familiar sensation of feather-light balance was was subtly changed with two people on the broomstick—the swoops a bit wilder, the turns more languid. It was, Draco had to admit, nice.<p>

It was impossible to judge the time when there was no such thing as a sun or a sky, and Draco's watch seemed to have stopped. But none of that was really the pressing issue. No, the main concern was that they had no idea where they were going and really, nowhere to go. After all, what was the point in flying if they only thing they could find were more patches of color? "Harry," he said finally. "Where are we going?"

The body behind him stiffened. "Weren't...you giving me directions?"

"Of course not. I've no idea where we are, let alone where we're going."

"Oh." Harry fell silent; the arm around Draco's midriff tightened even further. "Don't you hear that?" he asked. "That voice?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen! I can hear someone telling us to go left."

Draco let out a breath and focused on his ears. What could he hear?

Heartbeat. His own. Harry's breathing, soft but steady. The more chaotic hiss of the wind passing by—

Oh. _Oh._

Hissing.

"Harry," Draco began slowly, "do dragons speak Parseltongue?"

"I've never heard them say anything before. They're usually more musical."

"Salazar give me patience," muttered Draco. "Exactly how many people have you compliment dragons on their _singing_ voice?"

"Oh," said Harry, a bit abashed. "Okay, maybe it's the dragons. I'll just, uh, go left, then."

So they drifted, following some far-off voice, and as they traveled the colors around them gradually shifted, becoming brighter in a brittle, metallic sort of way. "It's like something's growing," Draco marveled, "out of...all of this."

"Growing," Harry repeated, staring at a patch of gold some distance away. "Yes, I can see it now. It looks a bit like—a dragon."

Indeed it did. Soon after, it became obvious that the two of them were headed directly toward it. The golden _thing_ was growing larger, dominating Draco's field of vision. It was possible now to distinguish the paler hue of the underbelly from the triumphant glow of the—well, Draco supposed they were eyes. If he squinted he could even make out the warmer, fiery tendrils drifting about the head, and the outline of fiercely hooked claws. "This isn't going to be dangerous, is it?" Draco asked, trying to sound careless instead of nervous. "Dragons and all."

"It can't be an actual dragon," Harry said doubtfully. "That wouldn't make any sense."

"Yes, because the rest of _this _makes perfect sense."

A harsh screech drowned out whatever Harry was going to say. Draco started and nearly slid off the broom. He straightened, breathing hard. "What was that?"

"Shhh. Don't say anything for a minute." Harry leaned around him to stare at the dragon. "Um, greetings," he began tentatively.

"English, Potter"

"Oh, sorry." When he next spoke, the syllables sliding from his lips were soft, sibilant. Draco listened, transfixed, as Harry conversed with what might have only been a strangely-shaped splash of color, save that it was responding in shrill tones.

When the conversation finally came to an end, Harry turned back to look at Draco, a dazed look on his face.

"It says its name is Crythifs."

* * *

><p><em>Reviews are how we fanfic writers get paid. Think about it.<em>

_Also, a question: I know these chapters are kind of short. Would it be better if they were longer? It would take more time to get each chapter posted, obviously. Let me know if you care one way or the other._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Severus/Lily seems to want to slip in here, oddly enough. Just a warning._

* * *

><p>"It – has a name?" Draco breathed disbelievingly. "It's...not an actual <em>thing<em>, Harry. It's just something that happens to resemble—"

Before he could finish the sentence, the thing-that-should-not-have-been-a-dragon shifted, seemingly stretching to glare into Draco's eyes. And then it – well, _if_ it had actually been alive, Draco would have sworn that it burst into silent laughter. No, not entirely silent; the air around him now carried the heavy undertones of a growl.

"It thinks you're funny," Harry informed him, his own voice colouring with a grin. "Apparently, you need to have a more open mind."

"I – that – what?" His mind went in at least five different directions to try to refute that statement, with the result that he went nowhere. "Wait, why does it know what I'm saying?"

"Why shouldn't it?" The reply came with an unconcerned shrug. "This is Crythifs' world; it doesn't actually make sense to question things like that."

"That's like saying that I should be able to do anything I want back home," Draco pointed out.

"No, it's not like that." Harry bit his lip pensively. "This isn't exactly a normal universe."

"Oh, well, thanks for that. I hadn't noticed."

"Funny. Very funny. That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Please, enlighten me about what you actually meant."

"We could maybe try finding a more comfortable location first?'

At those words, Draco became aware that a broomstick was indeed not the best location in which to have long explanations. Moreover, Draco's back was settled firmly against the other man's chest, and _that_ was more distracting than it had any right to be. "Check my bag," he said, suddenly remembering. "I brought my carpet."

"This isn't the time to refurnish, Draco."

"What, _you_ can joke about things now? It's a flying carpet, obviously. Well, a _hovering_ carpet, at any rate."

"Oh. Brilliant!"

A moment later, the rescued carpet was fluttering in the air beside them. It twitched gingerly, as if checking itself over, and then shivered vigorously before coming to a full stop. Draco gratefully fell into it, closing his eyes and stretching out muscles that all chose exactly that moment to complain. When he looked up again, it was to see Harry prod the carpet carefully.

"It's not going to suddenly drop you," Draco snickered. "Don't look so suspicious."

"Are you sure?" There was a hint of trepidation in Harry's voice. "I've found that objects from Pureblood families tend to develop...some sort of loyalty."

Draco raised an eyebrow. That was not exactly common knowledge. "At some point," he declared, "I'd appreciate it if you revealed why you know all of these things that you really shouldn't."

"It's a talent." Draco could have sworn that the man winked as he finally slid onto the carpet. "Maybe if you stick around with me long enough."

A high-pitched whine broke through the air, making Draco wince.

"All right, all right," Harry waved to – the something that called itself Crythifs. "I'm explaining." Fumbling in his own bag, he fished out a battered book and offered it to Draco. "Look."

Draco took it and stared at it curiously. For all its small size, it was quite heavy. He ran a finger over the plain leather cover – no, not unmarked after all. He could barely feel the embossed letters at the very bottom of the spine. H...B...P... "This belongs to Severus!" He exclaimed. "What are _you_ doing with it?"

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, equally startled.

"He marked it. Right here."

"You know about the Half-Blood Prince?"

"Is _that_ what they stand for?" Draco shrugged carelessly. "I just know he had that on all of his research notebooks."

"Interesting..." Harry muttered. "I'll have to look into that." He shook his head as if to dispel an interesting thought. "But yes, this was his. He gave it to me."

Draco shot him a disbelieving look. "Really."

"Well, _willed_ might be more accurate. It's what he and my mother were researching in their fifth year. And then his follow-up after—well, later."

"What's your mother got to do with any of this?"

"She and Snape were...good friends." Harry's voice was pensive, eyes glancing off to the distance. "Look, just read the beginning. You'll see."

So Draco flipped open the cover and began to read.

* * *

><p><em>Hypothesis: all of magic depends entirely on the wizard's intent.<em>

**Or the witch's.**

_That's really not the point here._

**It's important.**

_Fine. On __someone's__ intent. Happy?_

**What about magical creatures?**

_Can you even call that 'magic'?_

**It's worth thinking about.**

_We can do that later. Have you been to the library yet?_

**Not for long. Checked out ****The Magic of Purpose****, though. Someone named R. Willominde?**

_Is it good?_

**There's a chapter comparing accidental magic and wandless magic. It's pretty fascinating, actually.**

_That's brilliant! Show me tomorrow?_

**I'll see you after Charms.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 4: What's So 'Accidental' About Accidental Magic?<span>

Much effort has been devoted to studying the way that magic first manifests in children – the so-called "accidental magic". Prone to appear at moments of heightened emotion or extreme danger, accidental magic is notable primarily for its defiance of the known rules of magic. For example, inanimate-to-animate Transfiguration was considered impossible in the Western world until the fifth century, when a child trapped in a rockfall spontaneously transfigured the boulder pinning his arm into a perfect replica of his pet rabbit. Unfortunately, both the child's and the rabbit's name has been lost to posterity, but their contribution to the field of Transfigurative magic has been immense.

(It is interesting that Chinese wizards had been performing inanimate-to-animate Transfigurations since at least the second century; stone statues were routinely Transfigured into tiny dragons to serve as personal guardians.)

Several prominent magical theorists (including the celebrated Paracelsus) have conjectured that there are, in fact, no bounds to magic other than the wizard's imagination. According to this school of thought, one's ability to perform certain spells diminishes with time unless it is maintained through practice. This would explain why adult wizards seem unable push farther the boundaries of magic, while children do so on a surprisingly regular basis.

This assertion, of course, been heavily criticised, most famously by the legendary Merlin. "If we take Paracelsus's assumptions and add in Pythagoras's Axiom of Single Wizardry, then we arrive at the preposterous conclusion that it is theoretically possible to construct a universe that bends itself to the will of a single being," the researcher wrote in an unpublished manuscript (c. 420). The latest result due to Hesper Gamp has only fueled the controversy surrounding this issue (see _Appendix C: Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, and Exceptions_).

The parallels between accidental magic and self-sustained magic (also termed "core magic" or "wandless magic") have only led to further complication...

- R. Willominde, The Magic of Purpose

* * *

><p><em>A word on spelling: I don't have a Brit-picker, so I've mostly been sticking with the American spelling. But after writing entirely too many Sherlock fics, my spelling habits are changing...? I'll try to acquire a Brit-picker from somewhere, if this bothers people.<em>


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